


Roles

by IDair



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Peter Pan & Related Fandoms, Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: F/M, Peter Pan | Malcolm is not Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold's Parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29491626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IDair/pseuds/IDair
Summary: Peter is not sure if somehow, after all those years, they've switched roles.
Relationships: Wendy Darling/Peter Pan (Peter Pan), Wendy Darling/Peter Pan | Malcolm
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	Roles

Peter has always fancied some kind of good arguing.

A good opponent, a good adversary to play a new,  _fun_ game with.

Maybe it’s because no one has challenged him in a long time, or because an inner part of his soul is bordering masochism, but there’s something extremely  _satisfying_ when he fights with Wendy. 

It's like fighting with her is something entirely different. A new,  _fun_ game. A whole new level of  _thrill_ .

He never met someone like her.

She looks so harmless, so innocent on the outside but she only hides her power, a different kind of power, underneath it all.

All rationality pull aside, all of his schemes and machinations, stripped away until she left him with nothing but that fury, that hatred, that desire to hold her in his arms and shattered her into pieces at the same time. Because if he can’t make her bend, like he does with everybody else, then he’ll break her completely.

He wants to make kneel down for the king, and he can’t stand the fact than when she  _does_ kneel it’s only because she wants to.

When she bends it’s only because she wishes it.

When she lowers her head and shots him that look, that  _look_ in her eyes that tells him so clearly.

And when he  _takes_ her, it’s only because  _she_ wants it, (like it's good for him that he wants it too. That he craves it too) because she gives herself to him. 

The ways she lowers her head, lower her chin, and yet looks like she’s in control. Sucking away all of  _his_ control, the way an hurricane does. And she doesn’t even need all the force and vehemence,  the  harshness of a hurricane.

She doesn't even barely make a move.

She just flatter and bends like a reed in the wind.

He thought he could have her as his little doll, a puppet that would move when he pulled it strong enough but Wendy cut the strings with teeth and nails. And no matter how many cages he could lock her in, she’ll away fight back. She’ll always fight him.

And it makes him wonder if one day maybe, maybe she’ll escape too. And never come back.

So after he watches her eyes harden to stone and burn with all her rage, her cheeks redden, all he wants to do is pushing his body up against hers and kiss her until she has no breath anymore.

Push at his chest when he grabbed both of her wrists with his hands, trapping her arms,  she s houts she  _hates_ him, hates Neverland, that everything she thou ght about magic and all of her fantasies, dreams were nothing but lies,  _Liar! You are a liar! You're a liar, Pan! You’re just a pathetic, worthless liar._

No lagoon nor fairy hollow, no any magical place in Neverland, nor any magic at all could ever change the way she saw him.

Who he really was.

A heartless and blood-covered handed boy.

A monster and a liar. And he’s all that.

And then the knowledge that most of the times, above all, above all he knows she’s  _right_ . 

He’ll never ever tell her that. There still has to be a fight he hasn’t won in his own battlefield. Because he’ll always win.

But she  _is_ right.  H e  _is_ a liar. He won't ever use pathetic or worthless but he  _is_ a liar.

He is  _just that._

_A monster and a liar._

But he’s past pretending he doesn’t want her.

He wants her and he’ll get her.

He tried to do it once, he really believed he didn’t want her the first time she came to Neverland. And when he let her go he only got sleepless nights and endless torment.

And Wendy is past too it too, because she never really wanted to pretend anything in the first place.

So when he has her underneath him, her dress tore apart by his roughness and  the  fervor of his hands, he just feels like  _he_ ’s the one who is gonna beg to have her. 

He doesn't.

He  _doesn’t._ He doesn’t beg. He’ll  _never_ beg her, but there’s something on the tip of his tongue that sound exactly like a plead. 

_Please, please, please._

I t’s just her name off his lips. He just says her name.

_Wendy._

_Please, please, please._

He wants  _her_ to beg.

But she doesn't either.

So when she cries out his name it’s not how he wishes to.

_Peter_ . 

It’s not as much desperate and hopeless as he wishes. It’s something entirely different, it’s a full, complete breathtaking sound, and  it’s  even  _sweet_ . 

So sweet  h e had him fooled himself into thinking she does think what she told him him a long time ago. 

A little girl with flushed cheeks and eyes, biting her lower lip.

_I love you._

T hat she care. That she  _loves_ him. That someone like her could actually love someone like him. 

And that after all this time, she  _still_ loves him. 

He must have gone crazy.

She does that, she drives him crazy. Right out of his mind.

Yes, he must, because he doesn't care if she doesn't beg for him the way he wants, doesn’t do as he asks, he likes it anyway. The way she calls his name.

_Peter._

So, he just bury his face into her neck, leaving a mark just above her shoulder.

And in the end it’s her who wrapped her thighs around his waist even before his fingers touched the skin of her legs.

And it’s her who pulls his mouth down to hers, to kiss him, to suck all the air away from his lungs. To  _kill_ him. 

It’s her who arches her back and to meet every single one of the thrusts of his hips.

And it’s him who holds her afterwards.

It’s him who doesn’t let her go, he never let her go when she struggled into his arms because she’s suddenly too self-conscious, guilty even.

Her hazel eyes darkened,  n ot a trace of that burning fire blazing into her eyes with the fury of her hate, with the fury of her love. No.

Her arms lift up to cover her breast., but Peter is faster, wraps his arm around her, grab on her of wrist and pull her against his chest.

And she can feel every part of him still pressed against every part of her and she knows it’s so  _wrong_ . Because  s he’s naked, completely naked into his arms and not because he took off her dress.

And she hates herself and she hates that she hates herself.

And she doesn’t know why she feels like that only then. Now that she let him have her, let him bury inside of her, she let him inside of her, like a real woman, a _lady,_ did with her husband, like the carpet of leaves and mud was their bed, let him have her the way he liked it, the way _she_ liked it. 

She doesn’t know why she feels like crying only now,  w hy she fe e ls all the awfulness and wrongness of it.

And it’s him who kisses her shoulder, lips soft and hot and brushing against the skin, in a gesture only someone who didn’t know Pan would have misunderstood for tenderness.

An Wendy certainly wasn’t one of them.

And it’s him who pulls away some golden curls fallen on her face, and caress her hairline dampen with sweat.

And it’s him who presses his mouth against her cheekbone to kiss away a single tear she lets s treaming  down her face. 

And Peter hated to think that, it’s still  _him_ who will choose that, to hold her in his arms like  that  to whatever fire, all consuming, burning passion they might have shared just a moment before. 

It’s still  _him_ the one who will choose to hold her in his arms like that till the end of the days.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I'm still at it. Are you guys still enjoying this little, short things? If so, thanks so much for reading. It means a lot.


End file.
